


all of her history etched out at her feet

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, can you tell, i'm really sad about act iii hawke, more unnecessary literary references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke's life is a mess, and Isabela is always running away, but at least she comes back when it matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all of her history etched out at her feet

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from Landscape by Florence + the Machine.

Isabela is sitting at the Hanged Man today, like she is every day, except for the days when she's taken an artifact from the Qunari and disappeared for a few months, or the days when she left Kirkwall for a year after Hawke went to all the trouble of saving the damned place.

Hawke's not bitter. She's not. Isabela was there for her when it counted, after Leandra died and then again right before Hawke got the shit kicked out of her by the Arishok. Isabela is here now, when everything else feels like it's falling apart: Merrill's clan is dead, Fenris killed his sister and drinks alone in his creepy corpse mansion most nights, Varric won't talk about what happened with Bartrand, Aveline talks of nothing but how afraid she is that she can't keep her grip on the city, and Anders is digging around in the sewers, doing weird magic that Hawke doesn't understand.

Isabela lost her chance of getting another ship because of Hawke, and she holds no grudge, and she still drinks and plays Wicked Grace and murders the shit out of whatever thugs think attacking the Champion of Kirkwall is a good idea, all with Hawke at her side. 

Varric would laugh and laugh if she told him, but right now, the most stable person in Hawke's life is the same woman who's always leaving her. 

But then again, the people Hawke loves are always leaving. Carver died, Leandra died, Bethany is trapped in the Circle where Hawke can't protect her. Isabela might always be running away, but at least Hawke knows she'll fight tooth and nail to _live_. 

And hey: so far, every time that Isabela has run, she's always come back. 

Hawke drops down into the seat next to Isabela, daggers rustling against her back. She should probably sharpen them, but she left her whetstone with Fenris last week. 

"Wanna come bother Fenris with me?" she asks Isabela. "He owes me a whetstone, and also I haven't seen him in a week."

"Want to make sure Broody hasn't finally accidentally drowned himself in a bottle of that wine of his?" Varric asks from across the table.

Hawke shrugs expansively, because it's either that or admit that Varric isn't quite wrong. "Also hoping to convince him to share some of it," she says.

"Well," says Isabela, sitting up and downing the rest of her drink. "I can't argue with that now, can I, darling?"

The walk to Hightown is uneventful--Hawke and Isabela only have to fend off a few bandits each, and Hawke gets only a little bit of blood on her knives, which in Kirkwall after dark is something of a miracle.

"So," Isabela purrs, once they've made it out of Lowtown and into relatively safe territory. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" At Hawke's look, she rolls her eyes. "You don't need me to help Fenris out with his rampant alcoholism, and it's not like you to share wine if you can help it. So, spill. What's on your mind that you felt like you had to get me all alone in the dark to talk about?"

Isabela's flirting is as familiar as Anders' speeches about the plight of mages, these days. It's nice, comforting. Hawke likes having the little things to count on. Maybe she's the Champion of Kirkwall now, and maybe she doesn’t know what she's doing, and maybe she's going to fuck it all up any day now--but even if she does, Isabela will still wink at her whenever she gets the chance. 

They haven't slept together in a while. Hawke hasn't really been in the mood. It isn't that it isn't _fun_ , but if Hawke only wanted fun, well--her life would be a lot easier, probably.

"As if I need an excuse to want to get you alone in the dark," Hawke says.

Isabela sighs theatrically. "That line was _not_ up to your usual standard. I'm disappointed, Hawke."

Well, she's right. It's been a long week, a long month, a long fucking seven years, and Hawke is tired of this game that they've been playing. It was fun, but these days, when with every step Hawke takes she feels like her life is falling to pieces--it just feels a little pointless. "Isabela," Hawke says, "when are you finally going to admit that my wit and charm have won you over, and swoon into my arms?" 

Isabela stops, leaning against the wall of one of the estates, looking up at her. "I'm not the swooning type," she says. "We've been over this, Hawke."

"We were over this two years ago," Hawke says. "I've been very charming in that time. Just ask Varric, he'll tell you. I hear I even dueled an Arishok in defense of a lovely maiden. And the entire city of Kirkwall, but that was secondary."

Isabela snorts, uncrossing her arms. "A maiden?" she asks.

"Well, not if you want to get _technical_. Definitely lovely, though." Hawke leans into Isabela's space a little bit, testing the waters.

Shaking her head, Isabela laughs. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she says. "So, you want to know why your great act of heroism hasn't got me bringing you roses?" 

"I just want to know if you're going to keep jumping out of bed every time I bring up the fact that I might possibly be fond of you, Isabela." Hawke nudges Isabela over with her hip so she can settle beside her against the wall. "If you're not interested, I'm not going to trail after you like a puppy, I'm not Anders."

"But?"

"But I'm not stupid. You're interested."

For a few moments, it's quiet. "Did you hear the story Varric was telling all last week? From Tevinter?" Isabela asks.

Hawke spent almost every night last week helping Aveline with extra patrols. She shakes her head.

"Well, I won't go over the whole sordid tale again--here's the bit that matters. The hero of our story, this guy named Aeneas--he's been dragged through the mud for a while, and finally one day, he settles down and gets married. His wife's been married before, but her husband died, and she fell in love with Aeneas after he arrived in her city."

"I assume that this tale isn't going to end in a happily ever after?"

Isabela laughs. Hawke likes Isabela's laugh, but this one isn't real. After seven years, Hawke can tell the difference. "Not at all. So, Aeneas and his wife, Dido. They're happy for a while, ruling over their city. And then--of course there's an 'and then'--and then, Aeneas remembers his duty. He wakes up one day, and realizes he has a destiny, and he leaves."

"And this Dido, I assume she swears off all men forever and decides to take up with one of her beautiful ladies in waiting?"

"No," says Isabela. "She builds herself a funeral pyre, and she sets herself aflame." 

"Ah," says Hawke. "I do hate to point this out, as it was a very lovely story--fire always adds a little panache--but you didn't answer my question."

"Didn't I?" Isabela tips her head back, looking up at the moon. "People like you and people like me--it doesn't really work out, Hawke."

"Has it occurred to you that everyone in Tevinter is completely fucking nuts, and maybe you shouldn't base your romantic decisions around stories Varric tells in the Hanged Man?"

"I think Varric's got the right idea of it--just him and Bianca, nothing to make everything messy and complicated."

The cobblestones are cold against Hawke's back. "You're worried I'm going to leave you, is that it? Do I even need to tell you how utterly ridiculous that sounds?" Hawke spreads her arms wide, encompassing all of Hightown, all of Kirkwall. "I'm never going to leave this place. Every time I step away for a few days to go the Wounded Coast or the Sundermount, I worry that when I get back the place will be in shambles. You think I'm going to abandon you to go on my next great adventure? Well, this is my adventure, Isabela: I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to keep everyone in Kirkwall from killing each other, because somehow that ended up being my job. More likely, I'll die trying." 

Hawke's not quite sure why she's so mad, really. It's not Isabela's fault that Kirkwall is a mess. It's not her fault that someone decided that Hawke, of all people, should be the person in charge. It's not her fault that there's not even a proper viscount anymore.

Isabela's watching her. Hawke closes her eyes. "I'm not going to leave, if that's what you're worried about. I don't want to be the hero with the statue. The Hawke in Varric's stories--that's not me. I care about you, and I know you care about me, and I just wish we didn't have to pretend like we didn't."

When Hawke opens her eyes again, Isabela's face is very close to hers. "No one's pretending, sweetheart," she says, and she kisses Hawke, quietly and softly, as chastely as she and Isabela have ever kissed. 

Isabela pulls back, after a moment. "I'm not pretending," she says again. "Maybe I'm worried that you'll be the one setting yourself aflame on a funeral pyre."

"What, you're worried you're going to break my heart?" Hawke asks. She can't help but laugh, and she keeps laughing until tears are streaming down her face. "My life is a mess, Isabela. If my heart were breakable it'd already be in pieces by now. I'm the Champion of Kirkwall. You can't hurt me."

Isabela pushes a bit of Hawke's hair behind her ear and pulls her in close, tucking Hawke's head into the crook of her neck. It's awkward, because Hawke is taller, but what the hell. No one's held her like this since her mother died.

"I'm not sure I ever thanked you," Hawke mumbles into Isabela's shoulder. "For being there, you know. After what happened to my mother."

"Where else would I have been?" Isabela asks, and Hawke hugs her tighter, because she means it.

Isabela is always running from something. But in the end, she's always running back towards Hawke.

"You helped me save the city, Isabela," Hawke says. "Even if you could break my heart, you wouldn't. I trust you."

"Well," says Isabela, only slightly shaky. "What kind of pirate would I be if I didn't know what to do with precious things?"

Hawke pulls back and wipes her eyes on her sleeve, and then she presses Isabela up against whoever's estate they're outside of and kisses her. Isabela will probably get bruises from the knives strapped against her back, and Hawke won't get her whetstone back from Fenris, and probably if they stay out here too much longer they're going to get jumped. But even so, even if the city tumbles down around their ears, Isabela will still be here tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Isabela's story is from Book IV of the Aeneid, because what's the point of studying Latin for five years if I can't at least reference Virgil in fanfic?
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://luckydicekirby.tumblr.com) and cry about dragon age with me!


End file.
